


Foggy Skies

by electrictwizist



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrictwizist/pseuds/electrictwizist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn's never cared much for fairytales. / A writing exercise on Quinn's summer after junior year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New York, I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down

Haircuts don't fix problems.

And even when it's happening, Quinn knows that it won't change anything about what's happening to her. She's not exactly sure what  _it_ is, but now that it's more tangible she almost wants to protect the world around her from it. All she can do instead is stare at her reflection. She looks up from the mirror, and sees the barely recognizable faces of the two girls who brought her here. Brittany and Santana are trying their best, but in the end they're teenagers and they aren't equiped to handle the possibility that Head Cheerleader Quinn Fabray is broken beyond repair.

_Gosh, broken beyond repair? Your inner monologue sounds like a middle school Creative Writing assignment. Toughen up, Fabray._

Both of their bodies are in sync as they smile at her, completely oblivious to the fact that she's coming apart at the seams.

She smiles back. It's enough for now.

As hair chunks drop to the ground and the hairstylist circles around her chair, she remembers the taste of wine coolers and broken dreams, of Finn's sweaty palms and Puck and Sam's almost-love. She can't even tell if she used to be happy, but whatever that feeling was - she wants it back. Because that feeling, the juggling act of being the perfect specimen... it was a lot more bearable than falling face first into failure. The idea before that she was just taking things too seriously back then doesn't feel right when all of her fears basically came true in one dinner party.

The robe wrapped around her almost puts too much pressure on her neck, and it bites at the back. Quinn swallows, and tries to keep her eyes focused on her own instead of at her... friends? She wonders how long it will take before they succumb to each other the way they always have. A month? Less? Brittany and Santana have never done anything in the right order, but it doesn't matter. It's not her problem. She doesn't have it in her heart to tell them that all things come to an end. Let them stay deluded for a little while longer. It almost gives her pause, because sometimes her thoughts are so much different than what they used to be that it almost makes her sad how sad they are, like she's a spectator watching poetic justice take place.

When she's finally done and she stands up, she feels lighter than she ever has before. The women in the salon are saying things like you look beautiful and summer cuts are all the rage and do you feel better? you look so much lighter in your step.

Do you feel better? She feels like a balloon with one less rock tethering her down. Maybe one day she'll just go - up up up -

Santana (Brittany? Who knows anymore) throws money at the main desk and goes back to the other to play the step forward step back game some more. She wonders if they know how palpable they are. She can practically feel the heavy glances on her skin. Quinn's never cared much for fairy tales, but she's sort of glad that one of the few things she always took for granted is finally falling back into place. Even if it means that she'll fall back into their peripheral thoughts like she always does when their love gets too big for them to handle. Which is fine. She's used to it by now.

They leave the salon.

* * *

For the rest of the day, she doesn't feel anything. Hours can melt away when she just rides with the current that's always pushing her. That storm of anger that had been building in her chest all year, once escaped, hasn't come back yet. She can't find it in herself to even care that they didn't win Nationals. She holds Santana back as needed when the girl attacks pretty much everyone around her before Brittany steps in. Quinn disappears into the cracks of the rooms they move through to get to the airport.

(She never realized how easy it was for her to just disappear from people's thoughts. Or maybe she always did.)

There's a book bin at one of the stores near their gate, and Quinn looks through it while everyone else buys mugs and t-shirts. Most of the books are prayer inspirational or paperbacks with a half-naked couple staring deep into each other's eyes with a sunset background. Her fingers drag across the bindings of them all, feeling for something she doesn't know that she's looking for. The sight of book next to book on top of book is comforting if only by a little. Part of her wants to buy all of them and the rest of her wants to light a match, just to see what would happen. She does neither, and instead tries to find something good enough to make people leave her alone but also with the ability to let her sink into it and not think about things for a while. The option of flying home in silence is nonexistent when she's sitting in the same row as Kurt and Mercedes, unless she has a book to read. Her glare doesn't work the way it used to. Everyone in the Glee Club considers her declawed now.

"Lucy?"

Her eyes dart up immediately, her heart in her throat. "What?"

Her vision is blurred for a moment in fear, but a second later her brain registers a face.

Tina's eyebrows furrow, and she repeats herself. "Quinn? Are you... are you getting anything from this store?"

She couldn't even remember the last time she talked to Tina. She is one of the few people in the club that annoys her the least. The only time she came into her radar lately was looking at the girl in front of her and realizing how differently she looked compared to last year. She'd be worried, but people change in high school, don't they? She feels pretty stagnant lately, but maybe she used up all of her change last year. At any rate, she looks happy with Mike. He's a good guy if there ever was one.

Quinn's right hand darts down and picks up a book at random. Without even looking at the cover, she brandishes it like a shield. Tina's eyes dart to the cover and she can finally exhale. She'd never noticed before how Tina was one of the few people who stared intently at who she talked to. But at least she wasn't as bad as - "This. For the flight back."

"Oh. Are you getting any souvenirs?"

"Why?"

"... to remember the trip."

This is probably the only time she'll ever leave Lima again. Regardless of how even her low expectations of the past few days weren't even met, she can't imagine a day where she can't remember the first and last time she left her jail cell.

"I'll be fine."

Tina tries to keep a conversation going, but after that Quinn's done. A few seconds later of silence, and she walks away; Quinn is left with an empty heart and a heavy hand.

She walks up to the register and purchases her third copy of The Bell Jar.

* * *

They're sitting in plastic chairs waiting, and it's been ten minutes since Tina saw her slip. For some reason, Quinn expected the heavy weight of her classmates' expectations of her happiness to settle on her shoulders. She'd seen it before, during the pregnancy. In between the weeks and months after the mistake and before the reveal, they were all too fine with easing their collective concious by singing a song and hoping for a miracle.

They've only done it once, but somehow that was all they needed to do for her to be eternally disappointed after.

Everyone is sitting a few seats away instead, quietly talking about everything under the sun but Nationals. She can hear snippets of conversation. _Is Puck throwing a start of the summer party? What happened to Matt Rutherford, has anyone heard from him since he transferred and disappeared from the radar?_   _Rachel_   _and_   _Finn_ ,  _Finn_   _and Rachel?_  It's only been a few weeks since Finn erased her from that equation, and she can't decide whether or not she even wants him back or not. She'd heard of the expression third time's the charm, but it probably isn't applicable. Words and phrases and soon to be broken promises of hanging out during the summer are tossed around like keepsakes, and no one mentions her once.

Quinn cracks open her book, and tries to read some of the first chapter. She's started this book at least half a dozen times, but never could finish the first chapter before putting it back down. There was something in it, a trail of familiarity, that made her ignore it. This time, it only takes a sentence. The same season, the same city... it felt too different. Too the same. She closes the book again, and stares at the silhouette of the young girl's legs and shoes. It's so anonymous, the girl could be anyone. Quinn swallows, and her head feels heavy.

Even though the romance of it almost frightens her, she really does like the come and go of an airport. She's sitting in a busy intersection, and New York is a pitstop of some far-out places. She'll never see as many people in her lifetime as she will in this one span of time. Beautiful people cross her eyeline, and her heart almost aches at the sight of it all. Have they ever spent a day in complete silence? Have they ever worn a mask over a mask over a mask to the point where they're afraid there might not be something underneath them all? Did they ever let themselves feel the warm embrace of a child newly born, or did they too know themselves to well to allow such a thing? When did they last cry? Or eat bubblegum, or go to the movies? Who are they?

She tucks the book back in her purse, a hidden keepsake. Her eyes dart closer to home, to the others, eyes following ears; and she stares at them for a while before moving on to the next. Sam, Puck, Finn... Rachel. It would be too easy to slip in next to a conversation and pretend that she's a part of it, but she can't risk it. Even now when she knows that no one would even consider bringing her into the conversation, her hopes mix in with her fears and she assumes the worst. Because what if they did? What could she talk about with them that would even matter at this point? Quinn already has dealt with one family that was very good at pretending closeness, she knows how the game works. Just because these people weren't as good at the Fabrays at hiding their animosity, that didn't mean that she was going to show her throat and let them rip her apart.

Instead, she closes her eyes and imagines it instead. Walking down to the empty seat next to the group. Entangling her arm with another and letting them make her happy, even for a moment. Talking about music or clothes or school or whatever it is people who aren't fixated on their own emptiness talk about. All the reward with none of the heartbreak. She stays that way until the plane arrives.

* * *

The book never leaves her bag the entire time she's in the sky.

Instead, she concentrates on the little things. The pressure against her body as the flight takes off. The pressure in her head that only barely subsides by the time they're where they're supposed to be in the sky. The quiet murmurs of the people around her, adjusting seats and turning small ceiling lights on and off.

Someone clears their throat next to her, and she finally looks to see who is sitting directly to her right. Oh.

Rachel's hair is casually pulled into a ponytail, and her nose is stuck in a biography by someone named Donald Spoto. Enchantment: The life of Audrey Hepburn. It's enough to make her reach out and almost make contact, but just barely. Instead, she just stares at Rachel for a long-moment. This girl her enemy - obstacle? intruder? - for so long, it feels strange to sit next to her now that the girl beat her. Rachel won, but her prize is nowhere to be found. She must have been staring longer than she realized, though, because brown expressive eyes look over and meet her own. "Oh, hello Quinn." After a few seconds of silence, Rachel takes that as permission to keep talking. "Are you upset with me too?"

For some reason, the first thing she thinks of is Finn and Rachel. She almost laughs, because when will that stop being her first reaction? Maybe she's tired of talking about Finn Hudson. It wouldn't be the first time. (She wished that Rachel knew how to hide her emotions better. But it wouldn't be the first time she thought that too.)

"Why?"

It's the second time she's said that today. Quinn's tired of admitting that she's out of cards to play, out of chips to cash in. But as soon as the word escapes, she realizes what Rachel's talking about before she gets a chance to explain it to her. "If you mean about Nationals... no. No, I'm not." The ironic sadness of her life these past few weeks have become pretty predictable.

Rachel relaxes in response. The idea of Rachel being relaxed around her would have been so ridiculous a year ago that she doesn't even know how to respond to Rachel's "Oh" other than a halfhearted nod. "Well, that's a relief. You're probably the only one in the group who isn't mad at me right now." Quinn watches Rachel swallow back more. A whisp of concern floats through her thoughts before it disappears again before it has the chance to mean something.

"Besides Finn." She can't help but say it, and Rachel's response is a heavy stare back. She doesn't say anything about it, and Quinn isn't sure what to make of that. She's not naive enough to assume that means anything. Finn has been on Rachel's radar so intently for the past two years. She can't remember the days when her slushie target was marching around with Fame in mind.

She turns back around, and stares at the seat in front of her again. Rachel never knows when to quit, but she's had a lot of practice at it. Her arms are tightened in anticipation as she waits for Rachel to force conversation on her, but after a few minutes there's still nothing but silence. That is, until she feels Rachel's arm press against hers on the arm rest. Quinn's too stubborn to move it, and Rachel's too oblivious to not claim something that might not even be hers to claim, so they stay that way the entire flight.

Quinn can't help but be fascinated at how just as suddenly as she appears in Rachel's attentions, she disappears without a trace.

(Does Rachel ever fear her mask slipping? Does she even have one?)


	2. We Don't Talk About The Past

The plane lands at night.

There isn't a connecting flight in between Lima and NYC for obvious reasons, so instead they wait for their bus at the Columbus International Airport entrance. In a stroke of luck, they actually managed to make it to their meeting point on time. The bus didn't. They have a two hour ride ahead of them before Quinn even gets to her car in the parking lot, so this isn't exactly the greatest news. This being the fact that no matter how many times Mr. Schue has called the number he was given, it's going straight to voice mail every time.

The Glee club separates into three sections, after that. The first is headed by Rachel Never Knows When To Quit Berry, who has decided to fight Mr. Schuester into renting a bus to be able to make it home before midnight. Hand gestures are being made and foots are being stomped down and Quinn is pretty sure Rachel has said the words "injustice" and "ridiculous" in at least three different ways.

"Mr. Schue, I'm not trying to be a bother, but you have twelve underage minors under your care right now and with all due respect, this is extremely irresponsible. I know it's not your fault that our ride isn't here, but it's very well your fault that you're just content to sit here aimlessly until we all fall asleep from sheer exhaustion!"

Quinn can't help but raise her eye at that.

"Rachel, calm down. We're fine." Mr. Schue rolls his eyes. Which, maybe Rachel has a point with the whole  _Will Schue obviously has a preference for certain people in the club_ thing. She doesn't think it's Rachel-specific, but it could very well be gender specific.

Rachel throws her arms in the air at that, and Quinn holds back a smile. She can't ever really take Rachel mad seriously, and in fact would be a part of the second Glee faction (the ones watching Rachel and Mr. Schue with morbid curiosity) except for the fact that they're  _all_ being idiots. It seems a little excessive to look for another ride when for all they know, the one they have is just a few minutes out. But she also thinks their teacher is being particularly annoying too. Hence the third group.

She sits down a ways down on a bench next to Tina, and nods absentmindedly in greetings before looking around and taking in the scenery. There isn't really much to look at, though. The roads split off just before the building stars, not counting the road that goes right above them for the incoming parking. The sky is dark and a complete blanket overhead, no stars to speak of. Quinn keeps her eyes up and tries to find even one, but there's nothing there no matter how hard she concentrates.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Quinn furrows her brow, and even though it would be so easy to ignore Tina's attempt at conversation, she doesn't.

"But there are no stars."

Tina shrugs. "There's the moon. That's enough for me."

Quinn presses. "But it's... it's just a rock. Floating in the sky."

Tina abruptly laughs, and it's such a strange sound that Quinn can't help but question it. "What? What's so funny?"

"Sorry, I... I just had one of those weird philosophical-type moments, I wasn't expecting it."

Hmm. "What, like... aren't we all just floating in the sky?"

Tina turns around from facing forward and stares at her for a moment, wearing a strange smile. "Yeah... yeah, something like that."

"Well, that's stupid." Quinn replies bluntly.

The other girl laughs again. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe it is."

* * *

For the next half hour, Quinn and Tina silently watch Rachel take over the rest of the night's operations, Tina with bemusement and Quinn just staring blankly at the pacing and the phone calls and the progressively more antic pacing.

Quinn has no idea where Mr. Schue even is at this point, and maybe it's for the best. He used to be one of her favorite teachers during freshman and sophomore year. Not because he was particularly gifted at Spanish, because he was not. But he did seem to care about his students. He would talk to anyone in class who was having a hard time academically, and she still remembers the talk they had after he found out about the Glist.

But that guy... it was hard for her to retain any kind of sympathy when she realized how much alike Finn and him really were. She didn't have patience for people with indecisiveness to the point of ridicule, and they were both brimming with it. Finding out that both of them were sweet as can be until it stopped suiting them definitely had an effect on how much she cared about either.

(It also gave her more sympathy for one Terri Del Monico, which was crazy considering that woman drugged the Glee Club. The idea of her respecting her more as a person of authority really said something about Mr. Schue's complete obliviousness this past year.)

She has no idea what Rachel does or who Rachel talks to, but ten minutes later and the bus is there. Quinn isn't sure if it was the one they were supposed to be on or a completely different situation all together, but Rachel is preening until everyone walks past her without a word of thanks. Her air deflates, until she makes eye contact with Quinn and straightens her shoulders. She walks into the bus behind almost everyone else, and Quinn sighs. When did she have the urge to care that  _Rachel Berry_ was upset?

Tina stands up so she follows to the door. Tina drops in the front row to share a seat with Kurt, but she walks past and chooses a seat roughly in the middle. (She pointedly ignores Tina's slight frown.) Most of the boys have already taken up space in the back, and she's not really in the mood to deal with playing peacemaker to the drama that's going on the front. The middle is safe that way. She can find her own seat and lean her head against the window without being worried that someone's going to sit next to her. Quinn can feel the engine's vibrations against her face, and she can close her eyes enough to pretend that things are okay.

Her eyes open after a while, and she stares out the window instead. The sky is dark like before, but she can spot stars now and then. In between exits there's nothing but headlights and an empty road. She puts in her headphones and presses play, and  _Future_  queues up and begins to play. The quiet drum beat and guitar feels like a nice soundtrack for the drive. Her hands are tightly wrapped around the strap of her purse, and she can feel her fingernails digging into her palms on the other side.

Hayley's voice is comforting in a way that she isn't in her other albums, or other songs even. It feels like she's singing directly to her, and it's... her eyes watered the first time she's heard this song, but she's not letting herself concentrate too much on the words to have it happen again. Instead, she just goes along with it and feels her heart pump progressively louder and louder as the end of the song arrives. The music gets so loud she can feel it pumping in her bloodstream. She wonders if she would cry if she heard this song live. Jots a note down to maybe look up tour dates near her, but then remembers that it's probably unlikely. Still.

Quinn doesn't know what she expects when she gets back to Lima, but that antsy feeling won't go away then either.

(She's almost tired of living her life waiting for something.)

In the back of the bus, all of her exes are talking and laughing about things she can't find herself to ever care about. The sound of Finn and Puck's mingled voices gives her this strong urge to find a ponytail and pull her hair back up, before she remembers that't not going to be possible for a while. Instead, she just scratches a certain spot behind her ear and that's enough for now. Her hands fumble around in her lap looking to do something.

Quinn can feel Sam's heavy stare on her back through rows and rows of chairs. She doesn't let herself look back. He would see it.

She lets Hayley sing her home.

* * *

"Mom?"

The lights are on around the house, but the crypt silence leaves little to the imagination. She walks to the kitchen and scrambles around for some dinner. She bypasses the note on the fridge and opens it to see if there are any leftovers. She's not hungry, but there's some pasta on a plate so she pulls it out anyway. There are a few clean pots above the stove, so she dumps it in there instead of the microwave and heats it up that way, pouring some milk in every few minutes to make it taste fresh.

A quiet beat has been stuck in her head for the past few minutes, and she can't help but sway to it in between mixing. And thinks.

(Part of her wants to see the note that her mother left, but it feels pointless when she knows exactly what it says.  _Dinner in the fridge. Working late._ She wonders if her mom thinks she's oblivious or just stupid. But at least she hasn't brought her father over to the house. At least there's that.)

There's not much time left before the end of junior year, and summer starts for real. Being alone when you're alone is much easier to bear with than being alone around other people. She's not naive, she knows what she's like and she knows that she should probably get used to the idea of being alone. She doesn't have it in her to mold herself to suit other people, anymore, when she's already so molded and bent out of shape already. But she should know better than anyone that people don't care about excuses, and people know one Quinn Fabray and that girl doesn't need friends.

She doesn't need anyone at all. Which explains why she has no one.

Quinn's heart clenches, and her hands reach out for her phone; she pulls up her contacts and scrolls through them. Three messages are sent to the boys whose hearts she broke. The silence of the house has become deafening, and her hands shake slightly. Her eyes are glued to her phone screen. The time between the mistake and the balm is only minutes but feels like an abyss. She doesn't know which one she wants to reply, or any of them at all. But she just wants one to. That's all it would take for her breathing to get back to normal.

She almost doesn't put her phone down, but her food is done and she hasn't eaten in hours. She puts the phone down in the mean time and doesn't let herself look at it while she makes her food on a plate. The pasta is back on the plate it was on before and in minutes she's already done eating it, but no replies have been sent. She just saw them less than an hour ago, but her ghost house doesn't care about that.

Quinn grabs her phone and sees the quiet nothing. Her finger hovers back to the contacts to look for someone else. Nestled in between Puck and Sam's contact is a bright smile and a star. Her fingers hover over it for a moment too long. Just maybe-

Her phone finally vibrates, and she almost laughs in relief. She almost-

She plays text tag for a few minutes.

_can you come over?_

_it's kind of late q. what do you want?_

_i didn't ask if it was late._

_... are you okay?_

_just... please?_

_... fifteen minutes._

She tests out his name in the air. It's a mistake. But frankly, she doesn't give a damn. Maybe she is selfish like everyone says she is.

She just needs...

* * *

"Why did you ask me here? I mean, it's not like we've been talking lately. Don't you have someone else you can ask over?"

Quinn doesn't bother to correct him. Instead, she just stares at him and exhales.

Sam.

She doesn't know why he bothered to reply to this message when he hasn't been talking to her much, but that would be a lie. She's been avoiding  _him_. It's been easier than she thought it would be. He's been busy hanging out with the other Glee kids more and more. She never realized how little he was talking with them when they dated. Or maybe he always was and she just never noticed. She can't decide which one she wants it to be.

"Quinn?"

"If you're going to keep asking stupid questions, then you can just leave."

He stands up. Shit.

"I mean... don't go. I just wanted you here, okay?" Him. Someone.

Sam doesn't walk away, but he doesn't sit back down. Instead, he just hovers around her while she sits on the uncomfortably stiff living room couch.

"That's all you had to say."

"Oh, really?" She can't believe that. That would be too easy, and as nice as Sam is, it's never that simple.

He shrugs. "Yeah. I mean... we're friends. Aren't we?" His blue eyes look so earnest, and all she can remember is his arms wrapped around her as she promised to not tell anyone that his family life wasn't as perfect as everyone thought. It would be so much easier to use him as needed when she didn't remember that he was a person.

But honestly? She doesn't have  _friends_. She has emergency calls. "Sure."

He doesn't seem to believe her though. "Are you okay, Quinn? You've been ignoring me for weeks. And I mean, I'm going to come over because I care about you, but you're acting even weirder than normal."

"Weird?" Thanks for that. She stiffens up.

"You know what I mean. Don't do that thing, where you try to mix my words around until they're trying to hurt you. If I didn't care, then I wouldn't  _be here._ I don't get out of bed at midnight for anybody, ya know."

Part of her wishes Puck had shown up instead. He would have been a jerk of the highest order, but at least he knew Quinn well enough to know when to let things lie. They'd been in the same circle for the past year and he still hasn't made her talk about - if that isn't some twisted form of love, she doesn't know what is. Quinn stands up to kill time, and then replies. "If you mean something besides what you're saying, then say that instead."

"I don't really know how much clearer I can be. And are you really lecturing me about talking about how you feel? Really?"

"Sam, just... shut up." Please. Having someone here with her helps, but just barely. It's hard to hide as needed when there's only one other person here, and when the other person is the kind of guy who doesn't have it in him to deal with your crap anymore.

He sighs. "If you didn't invite me over here to talk, then why did you invite me over?"

She doesn't know. Only she does. She feels like she's about to start crying, but that's not an option and it never will be. Instead, she takes a step closer. He smells so familiar, and that bubbling feeling of safety that she always felt around him pulsates in her chest. It's  _Sam_. The only decent guy she really knew, lately. The one who showed her the stars and made her smile again when she was almost as bad as she was now. She had hurt him when he didn't do anything to deserve it just for the familiar of Finn Hudson, and he was still here. He was the only one  _here._

All she has to do is lean over and-

Their lips don't touch. Sam instantly steps back, and her heart stumbles.

"What the- are you  _drunk_?"

Her hands reach out in the air in front of her that used to hold a boy in love and boy in indifference. Her eyes water- "I just-"

He almost takes a step forward, but it's too much. He takes one step back, then another.

"This was a mistake. I shouldn't have- I don't know what I- I can't be here."

He walks away, and the chill of the air finally hits when she hears her front door slam shut.

_I am such a fuck-up._

She wonders if Finn or Puck would have stayed.

She knows Rachel would have, and the thought makes her want to vomit.

* * *

_In her dreams, she's wanted._

_The locale always changes, but that's never the memorable part. She's surrounded by people, and there's a person always vying for her attention._

_But in her dreams, she feels something back. Her heart flutters with something close to love. Nothing compared to what she feels when she thinks about Beth, but that is more akin to heartbreak. This feels like hope._

_That's the only thing that lingers in her chest when she wakes up, limbs curled as she stretches out from a tight ball on her too-big bed._

_She hates knowing what she doesn't have._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and reviewing this story! I hope that every update gets progressively better and longer. Please feel free to leave me creative feedback and things. The whole point of this story (besides Quinn angst and healing) is to improve.
> 
> Also, sidenote: I know that Future didn't come out until this year so it doesn't fit with the time, but let's pretend, okay?


	3. Another Brick In The Wall

Quinn wakes up to the sound of her stomach gurgling. She isn't really sure why until she smells the air.

It's the last day of her junior year, and someone is ... making pancakes?

The light from the window is dim for an almost-summer day, but it's enough to look around her room. She can see her suitcase from the trip, still at the foot of her bed, and her alarm clock is just about to go off. She considers just waiting it out, lying in bed and counting down until that annoying beep repeats itself over and over. But she has to get out of bed sometime, and that food actually smells edible, so. She stretches her legs out, and pulls herself up to a new day.

That quiet buzz that keeps vibrating through her is already starting when sleepiness shakes itself off. She stares out the window at the sky and tries to breathe through it. It doesn't work.

 _Today is going to be a good day._ She decides.  _Tomorrow is tomorrow. But today, I'm going to be happy._ (If she says it enough, maybe she'll believe it.)

She hears a voice echoing through the house. "Honey! I'm making breakfast, it'll be done after you take your shower."

How her mother always knows when she wakes up, she'll never know. But that's good. Breakfast with Mom. That's something happy Quinn would do.

"Okay, Mom." She half-yells back. It's still so weird for her to be allowed to yell in this house. For so long, everyone walked around with a complete shield up and only talked when they absolutely had to. Back then, Mom would have just quietly knocked on the door and poked her head in to check in. The idea that her mother would  _ever_ yell out would be the craziest thing in the world to Quinn freshman year. (She wonders how long this new Mom will last.)

Before getting out of bed, she leans over and grabs her iPod. She has a few albums that she's listening to exclusively right now, but she's not really in the mood for Bon Iver or the Violent Femmes. She scrolls through some of her new stuff and sees Bloc Party's  _A Weekend in the City_  and almost smiles, before queueing up "Song For Clay". It's just enough drum and guitar to get herself psyched up to get through her morning routine.

And so, she gets up. And in between the spins and the circles and taking steps to the beat, she temporarily puts on her frames and grabs her things for the day. It's pretty standard stuff, except for when she dries off after her shower. Quinn grabs a fresh towel, for the smell. It's a small thing, but... she needs it. Today is the last day she'll be seeing anyone besides her mom for a while, and she needs all the extra boost of strength she can get. And if that means getting a clean towel for the smell or dancing in her room, then so be it.

The idea of going to see everyone at that school, in that club,  _Sam_? She needs to be on her A-game. She is going into that room with a smile that she means at least fifty percent, even if it means pretending the entire weekend didn't happen. The one thing she has going for her is that everyone at that school is just as determined to have the last day be somewhat pleasant, even if it means being completely deluded. But she has to be happy. For at least one more day.

She can hear her mom walking around the kitchen when she's finally ready and halfway down the stairs. The food smells better the closer she gets, but it also puts her on edge. Her mother's idea of cooking ever since she hit puberty was an apple and the idea of a juice cleanse. Just thinking about it makes her eyes drift down and scan her curves for any imperfections. She swallows.

Quinn Fabray  _must_ be happy today. Even if it means avoiding breakfast with Mom.

(The air smells... delicious, but not worth the risk.)

She manages to slip out the front door without even saying goodbye.

* * *

Honestly, she has no idea why school even happens today. It's a Monday, and all of the finals were taken last week and grades were submitted then too.

But the option of staying home is nonexistent, especially when her mother is waiting to... it's not an option. So she goes to her classes. First, English. Then History. Now, AP Chem. Quinn sits down at her table while Mr. Paolini sets up the outdated television to watch a movie with the class. It's a VCR and he's known for actually showing movies relevant to the class subject, so she's not too optimistic about whatever it is he plans on letting them watch.

A few minutes later, and Santana is slipping into the seat next to her with some sort of doll.

"Do you think this voodoo doll looks enough like Sir Mixs-A-Lot to work?"

Where does she get her insults from, Wikipedia random search?

"Who?"

Santana sighs. "Berry,  _obviously._ Who else?" She points to the heinous plaid skirt the doll is sporting.

"You're psychotic."

"You'd know, wouldn't you?"

If someone could remove the stick out of Santana's  _ass_ , it'd be much appreciated. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Santana grins. "I mean, you'd know more than anyone how Berry Bonds likes to mess with people's heads, wouldn't you?"

"Just... shut up." She half-whispers as the teacher switches the lights off. She smiles as menacingly as possible, and it gives her a Cheerios flashback.

"Fine, fine." Santana surrenders, and puts her hands up in the air. "Whatever. She's harmless mostly, especially when she has that tacky chain around her neck."

Quinn doesn't take the bait.

"Please, like you haven't noticed Finnocence hiding away in the library right now. How much do you wanna bet that they're going to be bumping uglies and branding her with some ridiculous cliche of a necklace before the month is over?"

Okay, that's it. "Look, I'm not in the mood, okay?" It's supposed to be a good day, dammit. She glares at Santana, her body enveloping that Captain attitude for a brief moment to suit her needs. "So either stop talking and leave? Or go get laid. Really, I don't care which; but this in-between where you act like a total  _bitch_  to me for no reason is getting predictable."

Santana rolls her eyes. "There's plenty of reason. It's  _fun_ , there's one." She puts her forefinger up to count. "And two, it's none of your business who I do or don't let into my chamber of secrets. Unless you're offering?" She practically whispers it, and her eyes dart around because paranoia, but the idea of messing with Quinn's head was probably too tempting and worth the risk.

"In your dreams."

"In yours."

"More like my  _nightmares_."

Santana grins, and her eyes scan Quinn up and down. "Wanky." Quinn glares at her, and she relents. "If you insist." She looks back in front of the class, and Quinn sighs in relief as the movie starts. She has no idea what the movie is about, but she doesn't care.

They're silent for the rest of the hour. (If you ignore the fact that Santana is staring at her for a good ten minutes after that conversation.)

* * *

Her phone buzzes for the third time that day, just before lunch, and she ignores it. She already knows who it is. (Mom can wait.)

The cafeteria is practically buzzing with excitement. It's only two hours until the end of the day. She never really got the excitement most years. Lima was just as boring when school  _wasn't_ in session as it is when it is. The only thing that makes it bearable is when it manages to be hot enough to go to the community pool. That, and the cool ACed movie complex. Other than that? Same as usual.

But she is balancing this strange in between right now. Part of her wants this day to end, because days at McKinley High feel like a lifetime. But she knows what happens when she leaves, and where she's going. So, it's hard to get excited for anything.

(She wasn't excited in New York, either. Maybe she's just hard to please.)

The line for school lunch isn't that bad, so she takes her place and walks through with the rest of her class. She grabs what she needs, and then pays a ridiculous amount of money for food that definitely doesn't cost that much in the real world.

Her eyes glance over to two tables. One, surrounded by Cheerios and athletes and the rich kids from her block. She can still see the head girl spot that she took, the best one in the room. Now, some other blonde-haired Cheerio takes the spot. She's nowhere near the kind of power level that Quinn managed to achieve, but it doesn't matter. Someone had to slip into the power vaccuum, and now-

The second table. Rachel, frowning into her vegan lunch because Finn is nowhere to be found. Mercedes and Kurt, gossiping about the people around them when Tina looks on with a quiet smile and Mike next to her, talking to the other guys. And the empty seat - right in between Sam and Rachel.

She swallows, and her stomach (heart?) gives a sharp pain that feels like it's reaching up her esophagus and through her throat.

She runs to the closest trash can and dry heaves.

And already, she can feel the eyes and the whispers and-

* * *

She eats lunch hidden away in a hallway alcove. It's easier this way.

* * *

The day is almost over, and all she can think about is her mother. It's not consistent, it flits through her thoughts little by little until she's consumed by it. Only then does she completely throw out any thought of this morning and concentrate on whatever unimportant class game her teacher throws at her.

The grades for the year have already been submitted, so no one is even listening to the teacher really in other other classes. (Thankfully, her last class's teacher cares almost as little as they do, so everyone is just doing whatever they want). Some of the students didn't even bother to show up in their own class. Students are floating in between rooms and leaving and coming as they please.

(She'd do the same, but sticking to her schedule is keeping her sane right now.

She still has fleeting thoughts where she comes home and all of her things are in the front lawn.)

Quinn needs a distraction, and now. But she doesn't recognize anyone in this last class, and she's not walking up to a  _stranger_ just because she's-

"Excuse me, Mrs. Larson, have you seen Finn Hudson? I... I have a message for him from the office."

Rachel always did have interesting timing. "Rachel."

The teacher looks back down, invested more in her crossword puzzle than whatever anyone in class asks her. Rachel finally notices Quinn, and eyes slightly wary, she walks over to the girl's desk. She's wearing a pink dress with a white sweater, and her hair is curled in a way that's-

"You look nice. Your clothes and everything."

"Um, what?" Rachel's nose scrunches in confusion, before she shakes her head to clear it and continues. "Have you- have you seen- I mean, this might be extremely inappropriate to ask you given our relationship-yours and mine, I mean, and yours and-the entire dynamic really-"

"Finn's in the library."

Rachel stops. "Oh. Right... of course." She turns away and almost starts to walk out, but turns back around again. "I didn't see you at lunch. Are you ..."

"I'm fine." She bites out with a smile. Quinn wipes her mouth without even thinking about it.

"No, I don't think you are."

She stiffens. "It's really none of your business."

Rachel takes a step closer, and sits in one of the empty desks next to her. "If we're doing the business thing, I can always chalk it up to being Glee captain, but that's not really important, is it? I just..."

"Just because I complimented you doesn't mean something's  _wrong_ with me. If it makes you leave, I'll take it back."

"Don't be silly." Rachel presses her dress skirt down, which makes no sense whatsoever as it's completely fine,"I'm just concerned."

"Well, don't be. Just... go to the library and give Finn a pep talk or whatever. You're a lot better at him like this than I use- just go." She already said too much. Rachel had a way of dragging things out of her, sentences that needed to be stopped before they were finished. It's true though. Rachel could handle a sulky Finn a lot better than she could. Her tolerance level for him was practically nonexistent. Probably because Rachel cared more than she did. Or maybe just because she was used to giving pep talks to herself after Quinn systematically ruined her reputation.

For some reason, she gets the sudden thought that maybe Rachel will stay, talk to her. Give  _her_ a pep talk. But that's... that's ridiculous. And wrong. Rachel stands back up. "Fine. But... you're wrong about me and Finn. I'm not... it's not what you think."

Quinn smiles grimly. "Rachel? It's  _always_  what I think." She doesn't let herself think too hard about how true that is. "Just..." _Just don't get back with him. Just work on your dreams like you always said you would, so at least something in my life stays constant. Just stop getting weak like I am._  She makes herself smile. "Just do the right thing." Not that it matters. Since when does Rachel ever listen to her advice? Or listen to her at all? It always seems to be the other way around, doesn't it?

The brunette frowns, and leaves just as quickly as she came just before the final bell rings.

* * *

She has about five minutes before the Glee club starts, and nothing to do to kill the time. There's no way she wants to go into the choir room any earlier than she has to, but she doesn't exactly have enough time to actually do anything. Maybe this extra time was meant to talk more with Rachel, but she left.

Quinn has no idea why she just tried to be the bigger person, but she has a feeling the emotional "maturity" will disappear the second she leaves campus.

Everyone in the hall around her is being predictably teenager about the whole day, now. It makes her feel... old. All she can do is briskly walk past girls hugging in tears and guys throwing all of their school assignments in the trash with a vicious sort of happiness. She's almost at her locker to do something similar when she sees two familiar faces leaning against them. At first, she thinks that Santana's waiting for her. She still has that stupid voodoo doll in her hands. But then she remembers that Brittany's her locker neighbor and why would she even think for a second it would be anything else? Those two... no. Be  _happy_. She closes her eyes in the middle of the dense hallway, and spreads her face wide. She doesn't think about her mom or Rachel or anyone else. She finds her bearing, and then opens her eyes.

"Well... what about you and I?"

She stays back, and watches them. Santana looks so nervous, but Brittany is smiling at her and saying words of love so loud she can hear it from here. And not from her voice, although she probably is. From the movements of her hands, and the way they wrap around each other and sink into comfort. Santana's face looks so heartbroken, but hopefully Santana will realize what everyone else who matters already has soon enough.

(Sometimes, she's so jealous of the potential happiness they're hoarding it makes her hate them. But her heart also feels fit to burst.)

They looks so comfortable together. The only thing keeping them apart is this place, and that'll stop being such a loud problem in less than an hour. Her heart pangs at the sight of them holding each other like life rafts. She hopes that Lima doesn't ruin them. Happiness doesn't... it's not a guarantee, and she doesn't want them to waste the time they have left together before something inevitably pulls them apart. She waits anxiously for some sort of sign, and it's enough to see them link pinkies and walk to the choir room down the hall.

Quinn smiles a little more honestly at that. Her stuff can wait. She follows them hopefully.

* * *

Almost everyone is already in the choir room. Even Mr. Schue is sitting in the corner at the piano with Brad, writing something down.

She walks towards the corner of the room, near Sam and Puck. Sam's eyes are steadfast in ignoring her like they've been in any classes they shared today, and Puck is the same because. Well.

"We're waiting for Rachel and Finn. They should be here soon." Puck finally answers her unsaid question.

Oh. Right. Of course.

"Thanks." She replies. "... hey, Sam."

He nods at her absentmindedly, and Puck rolls his eyes and turns around to talk to Lauren behind them.

"Sam? I'm... I'm sor-"

She can't help but reach her arm out, and he takes a familiar step back to distance himself. "Don't, Quinn. Don't lie, okay? Just... it's -let's just forget about it."

So that's how it feels. She doesn't like it so much on this end either. "I'm not lying." She  _is_ sorry. Knowing why she did it and knowing she probably would do the same thing over again doesn't change the fact that she doesn't like the idea of Sam hurt.

He finally looks at her, and his sad smile looks so familiar that for a second she almost feels- "Sure."

Finally, she hears a noise behind her and sees Finn and Rachel walk in, hand in hand. Smiles.  _Time to shake it off_.

She plays hostess perfectly, waving them in with a smile. You'd never know that today was nothing she wanted.

* * *

She's been lying on her back in silence for about an hour when she hears a knock on the door.

"Quinn, could you come downstairs? Dinner is ready."

... crap. She had been too busy all day trying to not think about anything that would make her ruin her good mood and now it was coming back to bite her at the  _worst_ time. Quinn looks up and sees her mother standing there, arms slightly crossed with an indecipherable look on her face. Is she mad? She balances the line so well, and Quinn could never really get a good hold on her mom's facial expressions.

"Brittany invited me over for dinner, I'm leaving in a few minutes. There's a Glee club meeting after." It's a bold-face lie, a horrible one, but one she hopes works.

"Too bad. Tell her you'll come over after. That Glee club had you all weekend, they can wait."

She had to try. "Okay."

A few minutes later, and she's cautiously walking into the dining room. It's just as imposing as it always is, but - wait. The lights are dimmed, and the fancy table cloth has been replaced by something warm and - is that actual food? With carbs? The sight of pasta makes her mouth water, the only thing she had to eat all day was that apple she got from the cafeteria for breakfast and school lunch which doesn't scream satisfying. But her mother's idea of a full meal is a salad and a Chardonnay.

Something's up.

"Sit, sit."

Something's  _definitely_ up.

But the food looks good and she doesn't  _actually_ have plans after this. So, she sits down hesitantly. Thankfully, the table's extending middle had been taken out when it became a two-person house so she wasn't on the complete other side of the room. But still. This isn't  _normal_. Not even slightly.

They quietly say grace, hands clasped together, and then Quinn looks up. She's not in the mood for whatever this is.

Her mother starts to eat but, after a second, she puts it down - waiting, it seems, for her. Quinn sighs, and starts eating too.

The silence is almost deafening. No noise is being made except for the sound of silverware on plates, and the sound of Quinn's nails anxiously hitting the table.

She makes it about two minutes.

"So?"

Mrs. Fabray chuts lightly. "Don't talk with food in your mouth, I shouldn't have to remind you."

She frowns slightly and swallows her bite before continuing. "So..."

"So what, dear? " Her mother replies. "Are you enjoying your food? I found the recipe on the internet. I made some adjustments, but I think it's interesting."

She ignores the question. "What's..."

"What's what?"

Up? "Did you need to talk to me about something?" The dinner, the avoiding talking about what happened this morning. That fake smile.

Mrs. Fabray puts her utensils down, and looks at her daughter. A shiver goes up Quinn's spine, because why? Why did she actually  _ask her_? She could have just gone through the entire meal in silence and slipped out before her mother had even noticed what was happening. Again. Now, she was actually being looked at and she doesn't have any idea what she's supposed to do next. Neither one of them knows how to handle a Fabray who says what they're thinking. It's all about moves and counter moves. Insinuations and bargaining. Ignoring and avoiding. Or, when push comes to shove, lying with such a convincing smile it's easy to pretend.

But no. Because last night's note was the third time this month that her mom wasn't home without an explanation, and if ... she would rather know then be surprised if one day she walks home and  _he_ is sitting on the couch like no time has passed. That's why she let herself press for more. Because she can't handle the alternative.

"Just say it. Don't bribe me with food and ... I'm not-" I'm not him.

Her hands start to shake until her mother reaches over and holds them lightly. " _Okay._ Okay." She clears her throat. "I wanted to do this a different way, but this is a hard conversation and I-" She frowns. "This isn't something I should be having to tell you, but after everything that happened last year-"

Oh. Her face flushes, and it clicks. Of course. She didn't even think of what would happen to  _her_ when-

"Just say it. Stop- you're choosing finally, aren't you? You're... you're choosing him?"

That buzzing noise in her heart finally eases, and she knows what she's been waiting for. All along, it's been this. How ridiculously naive.

Her mother's hand clenches around her fork, and that familiar gesture is what she keeps her eyes on when she tries to maintain composure.

"Quinn- let me talk, please. I have to explain myself, I don't think you're understa-"

No, she understood perfectly. All she does is understand. "You don't have to say anything else." How long had she been waiting to tell her this? Quinn had been avoided for weeks. Were they seeing each other when she was in New York? When she was being broken up with in a funeral home parking lot? When she fell apart for the hundredth time in a McKinley High bathroom? "It's... just give me a second." She just needed one second, to get her breathing back under control. Damn, she'd been doing so good but here were the tears again. Weak.

Her mother replied, "Quinn, I don't underst- oh, honey. Honey,  _no._ "

Her face looks so confused that Quinn almost believes it. But then she remembers that she made the exact same face when she pretended that she didn't know all along that Quinn was pregnant and alone and  _scared_. Weeks of watching her mother's eyes trace her flat abs like she was expecting it to pop out at any moment. That her daughter who finally was worth something was all along just as much of a failure as both of her parents always thought.

She was lying then, and she's lying now.

"I have to-I have to go. I... I can't be here when he is." She hadn't seen him in a year, not counting the dreams, and she has no idea what she would say if she saw him before she wrapped her head around it. Would she cry? Yell? She would be lucky if he didn't kick her out agai-

She stands up abruptly. She thought she was ready for this, she had been trying to mentally prepare herself for weeks, but it was different imagining it and-

The sharp edges of the table almost cut into her hands when she jerks up, putting all of her body weight on them to stay standing. She can't resist, and looks up at her mother who's just sitting there in silence. Folding in her herself. Like she used to do with  _him_.

"I'm going to Brittany's." She doesn't deserve even that much, but ... well, it's the only friend she can think of right now that has the space and also would be able to tell with some degree of accuracy that now  _wasn't the time_ to play therapist with the school case.

It doesn't feel nearly as satisfying as she thought it would when she slams the door in her mother's face the way Sam did her's last night.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! I don't know how long I'll be able to keep up this updating time speed, but I'm just going to roll with it in the meantime. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and the other people who didn't review but did check the story out. :)


	4. Interlude

_You're standing on a road in the middle of nowhere._

_Something about this place looks familiar, but you can't pinpoint exactly what it is. Aesthetically speaking, there's nothing that calls out to you. It's just a feeling you have, a seed nestled somewhere inside of your chest, that is very adamant. You've been here before. You've seen what can be seen._

_But that doesn't make any sense, does it? Because it's midnight, or later, and it's completely silent. The kind of silent that presses into you. This is something you would remember. You can't imagine forgetting something like this. The sights, or the feeling, or anything else. The road looks like any other road. The street lights are distanced out accordingly and the pavement looks smooth and new. The only disconcerting thing about it is how empty it is. You've been out this late before but there's usually at least one person there, even if it's someone you've never met. A car here, a bike there. Lima isn't New York City, but it isn't a hovel either. There are people out at night._ _Wherever you are, it isn't home. And you're all alone._

* * *

_You start walking, because there's nothing else to do. The streetlights are dim and they flicker every so often. Something in your chest feels very present, but you can't tell what it is. You don't like it. It's the same feeling you get when you start to become claustrophobic. But that doesn't make any sense. There is so much area around you. So much space. You could walk for miles and there would be just as much land to see and road to journey. What could possibly be causing your lungs to tighten and your hands to shake? It doesn't make any sense, and that's saying a lot considering you just randomly transported to an abandoned road in the middle of nowhere._

_That's when you realize that your legs are moving. Which makes sense, because you started to walk, but. You're not doing that anymore. And yet, somehow, you're moving. Your body is moving without your permission._ _A scream bubbles up your throat, and when you open your mouth, nothing happens. No noise whatsoever. You can feel the scream escaping your body, but there's no sound._

_Not a scream, not the sound of your footsteps, not your heavy breaths. Not even a cool gust of wind that pushes you forward. Absolutely nothing at all._

_And then, all of the street lights cut out at once._

* * *

_You almost collapse to the ground at the sight of that, but you can't. Because regardless of how frenzied and panicked your thoughts are becoming, your body is still gradually walking down the same endless road it has been, and there's nothing you can do to change that. You have no idea what to do, until you look forward and see a light in the distance. You aren't sure what turned the lights off, or the noise off. You don't know what's preventing you from controlling your own movements, and you have no idea how you got here. You're alone, and mute, and scared_ ,  _but... there's a light._ _It starts to get closer and closer (or you start to get closer and closer) and you realize two things instantaneously._

_One: the closer you've been getting to this light, the stronger your hold again has become on your faculties._

_Two: You can finally see where the new light is coming from. Kind of._

_A silhouette in front of you is holding a lantern high up. You try to call out to them, to wait up, but your voice still is completely silent. And after a few seconds of walking closer and closer, you realize how cold it is. Your bones are starting to feel like they're unnaturally hardening, and your skin feels dry. The man (you can tell it's a man, by the shape of his frame, but you can't be sure) is turned towards you, and waits for you to get a bit closer before walking at a fast gait._

_Too fast. Every time you blink, they're a step farther ahead than they were before. You almost consider calling out for him, but what's the point?_ _He'd walk away just the same. Your legs are making the same solid pace, and you watch the steady light walk farther and farther away from you._

_Soon, he's gone completely. (He doesn't even look back.)_

* * *

_Your feet feel like they're bleeding. Your muscles feel heavy, and your hair is uncomfortably sticking to your forehead and neck; you can feel your shirt rising up your stomach. You look down, and your stomach is getting bigger. The back of your mind is thinking something about that, but honestly it's not important when now the only light you have to guide by is the moon. Looking up at it makes you feel better, but you keep walking. For what, you're not sure. This road feels like it's never going to end._

_But soon, it starts getting brighter, and you see something._ _Someone._

_At first, you flinch, because it's the back of someone. It's always the back of someone. (Always?) And you want to turn around, to the familiarity of the dark and the solitude, but you can't. You can't move back. Not even if you wanted to. So you keep walking, and the person turns around._ _It's Rachel._

_That ding of recognition does something. This entire experience has been horrible to say the least. (And something about the entire night feels too on the nose to settle properly on your mind or on your skin.) The familiarity of her smile and her eyes and her ridiculous outfit draws you to her. The muscles in your legs relax, and you think that you could probably stop if you wanted to. But you don't. (You don't?) Instead, you walk faster._

_Her skin is glowing, and so is yours. The lights around that weren't there before flicker back on, and flutter and move around you like swooping birds._

(She looks beautiful.)

* * *

_You start running, but every step you take is making the sky lighter and lighter. But it's wrong, your skin burns. The lights that were dancing around the both of you are dimming, and you don't know what to do. You take a step back towards the darkness, and another. The sky darkens, your skin is soothed, but. Rachel is walking towards you, and she frowns. Her hands reach out._

(It's okay.)  _She smiles again, a just-for-you smile, but you start shaking your head. Pieces are being put together._

(No, no it's not. The moon and the sun can't ever be together. It's not right, it's not to be borne.) _Your voice has this strange intonation, it's the only thing that you can really hear because you're too concentrated on the fact that you can hear yourself speak again._

_She takes a step closer to you, and just as suddenly as this whole thing began, she wraps you up in her arms. She's never done this before, and it almost makes you want to cry. (Why? Why does it make you want to cry? Why is your heart fluttering? Why is your skin burning?)_

_Rachel is now looking at you in that strange just-so way with those dark eyes and that heavy smile_. (Oh, Quinn. That's sweet of you, but I'm not the sun. I'm the stars.) _She replies, and it's the most obvious thing in the world that you laugh at the rightness of it all._  (I can go wherever I like.)

(Not back.)  _You argue._ (You can't ever go back.)  _And you're back._

* * *

_The second you say that, it finally clicks like before. Panic seizes its grip over you, and you step closer and closer to her. You're free, but now she's trapped. A bubble encases her, and no matter how much you tell her to come to you, she keeps shaking her head in fear._

_She's so afraid._

_Your skin burns, because you're walking forward again, but you don't care. Something is wrong, it's not right, and you have to tell her. But she can't hear you. She can't ever hear you. Something is pulling her in, and her light is dimming and the sky is bright and it hurts so badly._

_(You don't have to go.) You scream, but it's practically a whisper. Your voice is going away again._

_(We're tethered, Quinn.)_

_(Then why are you leaving me?)  
_

_She still can't hear you. Rachel is turning away, and you can finally see who she was talking to, who she's chosen. (Who she will always choose.)_ _  
_

(Quinn has left me. Quinn always leaves me. She will not speak, and she will not turn back. The stars are always here to hear, and yet the moon always leaves. It's so quietly brilliant. But there is one who is not cold. Who will not leave.)

_None of it is true. None of it is right. The stars can't be with the sun. The sun is too bright, too hot, and she's already completely gone._

_He takes another step closer, and it pushes you away._

_Closer, away._

_Closer, farther._

(Please…) _You don't know who said it, but it doesn't matter. It's too late._

_Finn smirks just the same._

_You wake up._


End file.
